My Life in Gaza
Saher Al-Gharah wrote: Gaza City is my homeland. I was born in the Tel al-Hawa neighborhood and I still live there; I have never left. I studied journalism at Palestine University and began working as an independent photojournalist in 2021. I witnessed six major wars between Israel and Hamas in Gaza, but the war launched by Hamas on October 7, 2023, was different from all that preceded it. Since last October, a ceasefire has been in effect. However, for us, the residents of Gaza, we have not felt peace. We have been living under exceptional conditions for about a thousand days. During the war, there was a constant sense of danger, a feeling that death was near. The relentless shelling stopped, but Palestinians are still being killed almost daily. Rats and diseases are spreading. Malnutrition remains rampant. It is not easy to be a journalist in Gaza. During the war, many of my colleagues were killed. Repeated power outages hindered the transmission of my reports. I am now working from a café with internet access. Fuel is still scarce and exorbitantly expensive. When I cannot use my car, I walk long distances to reach the scene. I am 29 years old. My family and I have been displaced from our home six times since October 7. During the war, and in the months that followed, the safety of my loved ones was my top priority. But alongside that, I felt a responsibility to tell the world the story of my homeland, because my duty as a journalist is to bear witness and amplify the voices of the voiceless.
Unforgettable scenes: the sky lit up with bright orange flames and thick smoke rising from a massive explosion at night. Sparks flew in the air, and trees and buildings appeared as shadows. After news emerged that Israel was planning an attack in the area, I climbed onto the roof of one of the buildings to wait and see what would happen. About two hours later, I heard the sound of a fighter jet. Seconds later, through my camera lens, I saw the flames rising, followed by a massive explosion. After capturing the explosion, I headed to the site. As soon as I arrived, I smelled the lingering scent of explosives. Broken glass and chunks of stone were scattered across the streets. The strike targeted a mosque. It was one of the most painful scenes I have ever witnessed in my life. It was the funeral of 112 people, whose remains had finally been retrieved from under the rubble. What drove me to take the photos was the magnitude of the loss. I wanted to convey not only the severity of the tragedy, but also the long and painful journey these families endured before they could finally bury their loved ones with dignity.
While I was walking through the school, several details caught my attention. The classrooms were simple and dilapidated, yet they were filled with enthusiastic students. Desks were made from wooden pallets previously used to transport humanitarian aid, transforming survival materials into symbols of hope. What affected me most were the students. Despite the destruction and uncertainty looming over their lives, they prayed every day in clean, neat clothes. Amidst all this chaos, their determination to learn and maintain some semblance of normal life was incredibly inspiring. I saw some of them watching the World Cup match between Egypt and Argentina. I returned to my car, retrieved my camera, and began documenting the scene. For me, what I see and capture goes beyond just football. It embodies a rare moment where people living in extremely harsh conditions came together to experience joy, hope, and a sense of belonging, and then, as is the case with football fans around the world, disappointment.
For Gaza residents like Hassan, their greatest fear now is that the world will stop paying attention to them. Large parts of Gaza still look as they did before; the war may have ended, but the suffering and injustice that Palestinians endure daily in Gaza have not.
Ahmad Al-Sarraf
